Demons Don't Often Get Pancakes (except maybe from Canadians?)
by SomethingMoreQ
Summary: Matthew didn't mean to summon a demon, okay? It's not his fault that the maple syrup happened to form a pentagram on his pancakes. It was an accident, even if said demon is rather tall, attractive, and - is that a Russian accent? Lord help him, or, actually… don't.
1. Demons Don't Get Pancakes

**Title : Demons Don't Often Get Pancakes (except maybe from Canadians?)**

 _ **{-}**_

* * *

A brown-golden drizzle spilling over tanned, fluffy circles; accented with a twist of the bottle, a zigzag or two, and a flick of the wrist. With an expert hand and a pink tongue sticking out in concentration, Matthew adds the finishing touches to his meal. Butter slips and slides under the freshly heated syrup, mixing and falling in a waterfall of deliciousness down the stack of pancakes.

Matthew pauses as he sets the bottle down, stepping back to survey the moment. _Mon dieu, this is a masterpiece._ Perfectly pleased and completely content, he reaches for a fork-

And that's when the candles suddenly sizzle out, maple scented smoke wafting lazily through the air; and thunder rips across the sky, which had been clear and cloudless exactly two seconds ago; and the temperature of the house plummets at least thirty seven and a half degrees; and… _Did the washing machine just shut off?_

 _Euh…_ Matthew shivers slightly. Perhaps a bit of whatever Arthur's dabbled in has rubbed off on him? Nervously tugging on his curl, he turns back towards the stove, a blue bowl and spatula resting nearby on the counter. Matthew is immediately distracted. There's still some batter left, _ooh_ , and maybe he can add some blueberries? Or, or… _walnuts_. _Yum._

Almost comically, of course, is the fact that the Canadian completely oblivious to the column of mauve and ebony smoke curling dangerously behind him, rippling and cracking like angry clouds. The temperature falls further still and thins the air.

"Oh."

That is, Matthew is completely oblivious until he turns and finds himself facing a rather broad chest that certainly hadn't been there seconds before. Matthew looks up, and up, and up, and until he meets a pale, expressionless face staring down at him with eyes mirroring the smoky haze.

 _Well._

Black, pointed horns that nearly scrape the ceiling, sprouting from hair almost as pale as the creature's skin. Crimson tinted violet eyes set in an intimidating, but somehow soft face, and large nose from which aforementioned eyes peer at the Canadian from above. A glittering, night tail that shifts slightly, leaving gorges in the wooden floor. The thought hits Matthew all at once-

 _There is a demon in my kitchen._

What else can the towering monstrosity be with its horn and tail and evil aura wafting around the kitchen, chasing away the wisps of maple scent? _Correction. There is an attractive demon in my kitchen. Merde. I'm going to die._

Before the shock has a chance to wrap its fingers around Matthew's mind, he scrambles behind the counter, left of the stove - anywhere away from the demon and the aura that reeks an unnatural stillness.

The demon looks at Matthew, not bothering to blink. The gaze holds the Canadian still; Matthew is frozen in complete fear, _until he realizes that there_ **is** _a demon in_ _ **his**_ _kitchen._ Demons are not supposed to be in his kitchen, not in this household. Steeling himself and grabbing a spatula for support, Matthew places his hands in his hips and manages to still his shaking.

"Wha-what are you doing here?" Matthew inquires, not quite able to keep a tone of wariness from his voice.

The demon pauses, a crease appearing between his brows. Silence, much like his broad shoulders, fills the kitchen. "What am I doing here?" he echoes, seemingly confused. The demon's eyes narrow. "What are you meaning by that, human. You must be stupider than most. If you summon demon, demon appears, and you make contract." He speaks in a cutting, emotionless voice that somehow reeks of of callousness.

Once Matthew has gotten over that sinful Russian accent, _dammit_ , he takes in the demon's words. "What? S-summon?" Matthew shakes his head, surprised at how calm he is. "You must be mistaken, I didn't-"

"Did not summon me?" The demon regards Matthew with a disdain, giving a small huff. The smoke around the demon's face crystallizes slightly as the temperature drops lower. "Then what," he points at the plate of pancakes, "is that."

Matthew looks down and gasps. "Oh!" There, in glistening drops and dribbles of maple syrup, is a perfectly formed pentagram, mixing with butter and decorating his pancakes.

 _ **Well.**_

"Oh, no, I didn't- I-I mean it looks like I did, but I wouldn't! I'm sorry! I-I don't really, I didn't, I go to church on Sundays, actually, and! Oh, it was just, I wasn't paying attention, I don't know! I was just, you see, and it went, the syrup! Um, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I just-"

He cuts himself off as the demon holds up a hand. He looks up, and sees that the demon's eyes are shining with something akin to amusement "You are meaning to tell me," the demon snorts, "that you accidentally formed pentagram on whatever that human food is, and summoned me?"

"Er… _oui_ ," Matthew says, having the strangest feeling that the demon is holding back laughter. Is he going to die now? _Oh, I bet he's going to eat me. I mean, I did summon him - on accident! Oh, he's probably going to torture me then drag me down to hell… I wouldn't mind going to hell if it's full of demons like that - mERDE-_

He looks up to see that the demon is watching him again, but the amaranthine eyes are much lighter. Matthew opens his mouth to ask a question; "Um…"

" _Nyet_ ," the demon shakes his head as if reading Matthew's mind. "I am not here to take you to hell, kill you, or make contract, seeing as it is misunderstanding."

"Oh, okay. Good."

An awkward silence proceeds to persist around the kitchen once again, and Matthew realizes just how out of place the demon looks, standing amidst cookbooks, lightly tanned, wooden chairs; a column of mauve and black stark against blue-tinted walls and a set of French doors that leads to the backyard. Nothing goes unnoticed by the Canadian's gaze, and he soon catches the demon giving the stack of pancakes a look of longing. Matthew quickly makes the connection.

"Um, Mr..."

"Ivan," supplies the demon.

"Well, Mr. Ivan, since you had to, um, go through all that trouble of being summoned- on accident- would you, I mean, before you go back to h-hell, would you like some pancakes?"

" _Chto?_ " The demon raises an eyebrow. Again, the human has done something unexpected.

"Pancakes," repeats Matthew, his voice seeming to grow a bit stronger. "I could make you some?"

Ivan pauses, but there is no real consideration needed. He nods. " _Da_."

Silently, Matthew begins to make a new batch of pancakes, well aware of the demon's gazes resting on his every move, from pouring the batter, to flipping the pancakes, to stacking them.

"H-here," Matthew says finally, this time deliberately forming a pentagram with syrup on the new stack of pancakes. Setting a fork on the plate, he slides it over to Ivan.

The creature regards the plate with ill-disguised delight. He takes the plate and fork with a hand that almost dwarves the utensil, and a design of frost swirls its way onto the fork and dish, almost coating the both in ice as the Russian takes a small bite of the pancakes.

The kitchen is completely still, frozen, for a beat; perhaps two before Ivan moves.

"Mm… _da_ ," the demons nods his obvious approval, eyes flickering. He turns his gaze to Matthew and speaks again: " _Spasibo_."

And with a toothy grin, smoke fills the kitchen, the clouds disperse from the sky, candles flicker on, and the washing machine starts back up -

\- the Russian demon is gone without a trace.

 _ **{-}**_

Matthew soon found himself lucky. Extremely lucky. The stain in his favorite hoodie, (which had been there for almost a year), disappeared over night. Shipping fees for anything he bought off of Amazon were almost nonexistent, (even for overseas!) Perhaps it's just his imagination, but people seemed to notice him more and more, (but Matthew was now completely ignored in church, odd enough.)

And every so often, a certain tall, Russian, and rather attractive demon will show up for pancakes with a smirk and an excuse of, "Demons do not often get pancakes."

* * *

 _ **{-}**_

 **A/N: Credited to a tumblr post. Sorry** **for my absence, I will update soon. Thank you for reading; please review. ;3**


	2. Omake 1: Demons Aren't Cute

**_Omake_ [Extra!] : Demons Aren't Cute**

 **{-}**

It is a Sunday, and, most coincidentally, Ivan is at the counter per usual; swishing his tail across the floor while watching Matthew cook pancakes. It's a simple thing- cooking pancakes. Or, rather, Matthew makes it look effortless- as if it is second nature to make batter into clouds of sweetness.

So far, the demon has been over for pancakes thrice in the past few weeks, no summoning required. Matthew doesn't mind, really, but whenever Arthur visits, he insists that he senses an 'evil presence that _must_ be eradicated', and going on about seances and ouija boards and the like.

 _Evil._ As if. Would an evil demon of darkness and Hell or whatever wash his own dishes? (Granted, Matthew had to fix Ivan with a stern glare before he would even pick up a sponge, but, nevertheless, the dishes were done.)

Still under the heavy gaze of Ivan, Matthew flips off the stove and sets the spatula aside, plating his creation; chocolate chip, and sets the once batter-filled bowl in the sink. "Alright, they're ready!" he announces, sliding the two stacks of pancakes onto the counter. He picks up the bottle of maple syrup, and looks expectantly up at Ivan. "What shape would you like this time?"

"Mm…" Ivan tilts his head, and narrows his amaranthine eyes, his tail swishing harder. "How about another pentagram?"

Matthew fixes the demon with a steely glare, and Ivan has to admit that Matthew could make a decent demon- if he would just speak up and stop being so nice all the time. And cute. Demons are not cute- Ivan gives himself a little shake and subconsciously tugs up his scarf to hide his darkening cheeks. "Pentagram," he repeats himself, clearing his throat slightly.

"Hm." Although Matthew's discovered that he is quite good at pancake art, he hasn't formed another occult symbol since _The Incident._ "Am I going to summon another demon if I intentionally form another pentagram?" he inquires, fingers tapping along the edge of the bottle. "Because if that happens, I am going to blame it on you."

" _Nyet, Nyet_ ," Ivan insists, "but if you are lucky, the Devil himself may show up-"

Matthew cuts Ivan off with another look. "I do not want any more demons in my house!" he says, crossing his arms. "One is quite enough."

Ivan simpers, folding his hands under his chin and leaning closer to Matthew. A burst of icy breath brushes the Canadian's nose as Ivan speaks: " _Da_ , I am more than enough."

"Oh, be quiet." But it is Matthew's voice that drops in volume as he flushes and ducks his head. _Honestly._ He's frequently dazzled by the demon, and Ivan knows very well the effect he can have on Matthew.

Pausing to tug on his curl- a nervous habit- Matthew picks up the syrup again. In quick, decisive movements, a pentagram is formed on Ivan's pancakes and whipped cream spiraled on top.

"Here you are," Matthew says, handing Ivan a fork. After reaching up to quickly scratch his nose, Matthew pours syrup over his own pancakes. As he grabs another fork, he feels a gaze freezing the back of his head.

Fork in hand, Matthew sighs and turns around, leaning against the counter. "What is it, Ivan?"

But Ivan does not seem to be listening, but, rather; staring intensely at Matthew's nose. "Do… do I have something on my nose?" Matthew asks hesitantly, dropping his head and reaching up to check-

-but before he can, a frosty hand grips his wrist and forces it back down by his side, another arm pressing into the small of his back, causing Matthew to lean over the counter, unable to move; Ivan's hands are akin to steel chains.

"Wha- _what_ are you _doing_?!" Matthew demands, somewhere in between a squeal and shout, simultaneously flustered and miffed. The position is rather compromising, and more than a little exciting.

Ivan doesn't speak, but leans down without breaking eye contact, his expression intense and curious. Staring boldly into Matthew's eyes, he slowly licks the length of Matthew's nose, mouth curling into a smirk and showing a flash of fangs.

"You had whipped cream on your nose," Ivan explains, then, with a wink and another grin, disappears in a crack and flash of smoke just as a knock sounds at the door…

A few moments later, a rambunctious figure skids around the corner, almost slipping on the hardwood floor; Alfred barges in and immediately shrieks in horror at the state of his brother: " _MATTIE_!"

And, yes, there is Matthew; a stuttering, blushing mess leaning heavily on the counter and mumbling something under his breath about murder and whipped cream.

* * *

 **A/N: There will be more than a few extra scenes with this one shot. Thank you for reading, please review. ;3**


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